


safe landing

by hiensou



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, actually it's more filth than sap i think bc i got a little carried away, episode 11's festival scene, except it ends.... a bit more........ idealistically, i think about this scene like daily and so, ye have this sappy rendition of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiensou/pseuds/hiensou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Haruka thinks his heart might break, but finds it mended together again before any serious damage is done. After all, Makoto would never allow him to fall, unless it is in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	safe landing

“I _have_ decided.”

Haruka's blood ran cold, or disappeared altogether; it was hard to tell, but he was rendered completely motionless, heart an ice cube in his chest.

“I'm going to a university in Tokyo.”

Everything seemed to explode around him. But not to life; to wreckage. Disaster. Hopelessness. Makoto had taken the first step away from him. Makoto had initiated the first ever crack between them. It was an ugly, gaping hole, stretching from one side to the other, separating the two of them. Haruka did not know how to bridge it, how to sew it back together. Even if he managed, would it be the same? Would the scar tissue be forever present, a mocking reminder of their fragility, of Haruka's naïvety?

Makoto was the last person he expected to pressure him, to beg for him to get it together, so that Makoto could move on himself. The last person he ever wanted to lose, or ever believed he could. Especially now, as Haruka had come to realise that Makoto was never a mere friend. Never a mere _best_ friend, even. He was that and so much more: he was the seams that kept Haruka's body together, and the breath Haruka wanted to ghost said body. He was the sun, the fireworks going off inside Haruka's head and around him. The ground, always sturdy beneath him, but now giving way for Haruka's downfall. Yet Haruka was sure—would always be sure—that Makoto would be his parachute, his safe landing, his home to return to.

He was trembling, and Makoto looked like the very personification of involuntary sorrow. He wanted to stand behind his decision with determination, with backbone, but sympathy flowed through his veins like poison, for he was always unable to not care for Haruka. To not want him there, every step of the way, even if their steps weren't always in sync.

Tears stung in Haruka's eyes. How could he be sure of anything anymore?

He wanted to run away, but he also wanted to claw at Makoto's resolve, yell at him to help Haruka fix this, fix _them_ , despite how futile it all felt right now. He fell forwards, would have tipped right into Makoto had his leg not reacted and saved him with a heavy step. He took another, feeling as if all energy was drained from his body. He heard his name being murmured by Makoto, questioningly, pleadingly. Salty tears burned at Haruka's cheeks, and he was almost sure his face was being torn open by them, tracks of toxic acid spilling from his own body.

He stopped in front of Makoto, head hanging low. He was close enough to trap the other in his arms, if he wanted to. Perhaps then he wouldn't go to Tokyo. If he were lucky, they could stay here forever, safe in each other's arms. Time wouldn't slow around them, but they could be happy like that. He was certain of it.

Makoto was looking down at him, muscles tense and quivering beneath the bursts of colour adorning the dark sky as the fireworks were still going off. He fought to keep his own tears in, and breathed out Haruka's name one more time. “Haru...”

“What should I do?” Haruka's voice came out as a weak whimper, like a lost child's, “I'm the only one with nowhere to go. Is it my own fault?”

“Haru, no, of course you—”

“I thought that it was okay, because at least I had you.”

Makoto was silent. Haruka felt _made_ of selfishness. No cells, no aspirations; only his egoistic tendency to cling to what was constant in his life. How could he expect Makoto to do the same?

“The only thing I'm certain of,” continued Haruka, voice wavering like the flicker of light above them, “is that I want to continue being with Makoto...”

Makoto's eyes widened, and he craned his neck backwards a bit in an attempt to catch a glance of Haruka's features, but the latter's face remained concealed by the hair falling across it.

“I'm being selfish,” The quaking of Haruka's shoulders was nothing short of violent, and Makoto could hear him snivelling. “I know...” he said with a stuttering breath. A surprising sneer came from him then, and he shook his head, straight-out laughing at himself, bitterly, as he dipped his head against the other's shoulder. “But I think, I think I...”

Makoto didn't know what to do. He hadn't seen Haruka in such a state of hopelessness, of vulnerability, in all of his life. He couldn't regret choosing a life for himself, but at the moment, he wanted nothing else but to scoop the smaller boy into his arms and soothe his panic, kiss the salty wetness away from his scarlet cheeks, and promise him _everything;_ promise him a solution.

He waited for Haruka to finish his words, the sound of what was now actual sobs escaping Haruka's lips tearing Makoto up inside.

“I think I love you,” he cried helplessly against the brunet's clavicle, clenching the front of Makoto's shirt in his hands. “I love Makoto, I—I always have, but I'm selfish, I took it for granted. You—I took you for granted. I didn't realise until lately, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm so sorry.”

Makoto felt dumbstruck. Haruka's crying blended together with the explosions above them, and with Makoto's erratic heartbeat. His hands shook uncontrollably as he wound his arms around Haruka's back, pressing his palms firmly against the other. This was far from the first time he hugged his best friend, but there was something about holding him now that was entirely new and unfamiliar, but _perfect_ , just like Haruka himself.

Makoto let his own tears cascade down to soak the fabric of Haruka's shirt over his shoulder, Makoto squeezing his eyes shut and furrowing his eyebrows. The insides of his chest felt like a roller coaster, and the adrenaline coursed from the rough pulsating of his heart throughout his entire body. To his legs, trying to keep him upright; to his fingertips, pressed against Haruka's shoulder blades; to his lips, drawing a deep, shaky breath before he spoke.

“I wish you'd have told me sooner,” he said, squeezing the other even tighter against himself, “But it's okay, Haru, it's okay. It's never too late. It'd never be too late for us, Haru.”

“ _Makoto_ ,” the other sobbed, still racked by bouts of panic and desperation. He felt defenceless against the world, but Makoto was holding him, Makoto was smiling against him, he could feel it, and the fireworks still erupting in the night sky finally felt like more of a celebration than a threat.

Makoto was stroking the back of his head, fingers tender against the smooth jet locks that slipped through his digits. He snivelled twice before pulling back, still keeping Haruka close to his body, but nudging his forehead against Haruka's own as an indication the latter should look up.

Haruka did, his eyes stinging, his face wet.

And Makoto kissed him, a sweet but longing touch of lips, which Haruka couldn't help but instantly press deeper into.

It wasn't quite a missing puzzle piece; more so, it was an extra they never knew they needed so badly. Haruka's breath hitched as he ran his hands up Makoto's neck, into his hair, and begged the heavens to let them stay like this.

Makoto continued to kiss at his lips, capturing his upper lip only to release it again, peck the corner of his mouth, push them flush against each other again and repeat. Haruka thought he could drown in the other's boundless desire; his insides clashed like waves on the shore as his panic attack bled into the realisation that he had never felt so yearned for before.

They sunk to their knees, still grasping at each other, still leaking tears from their eyes and whimpers against their lips. Makoto held onto Haruka's waist steadily, thumbs pressing into the juts of his hip bones. Gradually, he let the kiss dwindle into nothingness, and he lightly pecked Haruka's bottom lip, his cheek, his forehead, before pulling him into another scorching embrace. Haruka's arms encircled his shoulders and hugged them for dear life.

“Haruka,” breathed Makoto, exhales sharp and heavy, “Ha-Haru, it's okay. It will always be okay. I'm sorry too, for not telling you, but I'd never let you crash and burn alone, you know that. It'll be okay.”

Haruka couldn't speak. He wanted to believe him, but the doubt still lingered like the feeble remains of an anaesthesia, making him drowsy and unsure. He still did not know where to go, where to look for a dream, how to look for it. Was it even out there? Was there time enough for him to find it? And if he did, how would he move on from there? Makoto couldn't be his steering wheel anymore, keeping him on a clear path; only his light house, assuring him of where home would always be.

He was grateful enough for that, though.

“I love you,” he whispered again, needing to let it all sipper out before his walls rose once more, keeping these things inside him.

Makoto laughed as if he couldn't believe it. And Haruka _knew_ him, knew he was overwhelmingly happy, knew what words would be his answer, but that incredulity still made him wince in Makoto's arms; he never wanted Makoto to doubt what he felt for him. “I love you too, Haruka, of course I do.”

_Of course_ —the words echoed within his head. To Makoto, it was obvious. It became obvious to Haruka too, now. Of course they would end up like this. Of course it would always be Haruka and Makoto. Makoto and Haruka. Of course.

“Haru,” he pulled back, relaxed a bit where they sat on the ground, and lifted a hand to cup the other boy's cheek, “you know, there are a lot of programs to choose from at the school I applied to. Several connected to swimming. Research programs, coaching programs... It doesn't have an actual swimmer one, but a sister school does. Several of Japan's Olympics contestants went there.”

Haruka wiped at his nose and snivelled again. “What did you apply to?”

“Swimming instructor,” replied Makoto with a slight chuckle, “for kids, unsurprisingly.”

Haruka smiled warmly at him, smoothing a hand down his chest. “That's perfect for you.”

He leaned into Makoto's touch as the latter caressed his thumb up and down the apple of Haruka's cheek. He smiled back, tears still donning the edges of both their eyes. “I'm glad you think so,” he leaned in to kiss Haruka's forehead again, “you'll find something too, I know you will. We'll look for it together, okay? There's so much out there for you, Haru. You just don't seem to know it.”

Haruka swallowed. “If... If you say so.”

“I do say so,” the brunet replied firmly, “there's nothing my Haru can't do. You just have to sort through all of your talents and find what makes you happy. If you don't want to swim, that's okay. If you find out that you do after all, then that's fine too. We'll all be here for you whatever you choose. You know this.”

Haruka felt his throat clench up. “I—I do know this.”

“Mm,” hummed the other affirmatively, “Like I said, we all love you. Rei and Nagisa want to see you find your dream, too. And Rin. And everyone else who pressured you about it. I know it's stressful, but it's only because they care.”

Haruka sighed, letting his hands drop to his lap. Makoto's palm remained on the side of his face, however. “I know.” he said, albeit with a hint of bitterness in his tone.

“Haru,” Makoto's smile could be heard in his voice, “let's go home.”

“Yeah,” Haru reached up to his face, taking Makoto's hand in his own.

* * *

Haruka knew Nagisa and Rei would try to contact them after they disappeared, and shut his phone off the minute they entered his home. As Makoto excused himself to go to the bathroom, Haruka snuck the other's cell phone out of his jacket and did the same to it. He then walked into the kitchen, a faint numbness still lingering in his legs, making him feel unsteady.

Haruka began to prepare tea, not even hearing Makoto entering the room after a couple of minutes, being startled at the sudden hands on his waist. He flinched, but continued to pour the correct amount of tea leaves into the cups without much disturbance.

“How are you feeling?” asked Makoto cautiously, voice a tickling feather against the shell of Haruka's ear. He shivered.

“F-Fine,” he said, “do you want something to eat with your tea?”

Makoto shook his head with a declining hum, kissing Haruka's temple. He continued to trail his lips down the side of his face, arms locking around his middle.

“Makoto...” said Haruka lowly, a careful warning, as Makoto kissed the corner of his lips, eventually capturing them with his own altogether. Haruka closed his eyes and sighed into the kiss, chills raking through his body.

Makoto turned him around and kissed him deeper. It felt like solace laced with hunger, an odd combination Haruka would not mind getting drunk on. So he wove his arms around the other's neck, allowing himself to be backed up against a wall, tea forgotten on the kitchen counter. Makoto's hands left burn marks on his torso as they travelled across it, even with the shirt preventing direct contact.

Haruka moaned into the taller boy's mouth, and it seemed to bring Makoto's senses back. He pulled away suddenly, breath a bit laboured. His face flushed bright red, and he looked at Haruka with a certain dizziness visible in his droopy eyes.

“S-Sorry,” he said, “it's probably too soon, isn't it?”

Haruka bit his bottom lip. “Funny, I was thinking we had waited too long.”

Makoto swallowed thickly, eyes flickering to the other's lips and back up, the crimson of his cheeks intensifying. “Really?” he asked breathlessly, slipping a hand beneath Haruka's shirt. Haruka gasped at the cool touch. “You're okay with this?”

Truth be told, Haruka's stomach knotted with cautiousness. This was a gigantic step, and the entirety of tonight was a turmoil in his head. But he was okay with it—with this. He relished this fear, as it was spiked with an unmistakable excitement the likes of which he had never experienced quite so wildly before. In addition, it wasn't as if Makoto and him hadn't done things before, albeit with more innocent intentions. Growing up, they made a habit of going to the other when curious about anything physical. Haruka knew this was different— _bigger_ —but it still soothed his mind to know that the leap wasn't fatal.

Haruka nodded, and it was all Makoto needed to dive in for his neck, kissing it open-mouthed. Haruka leaned his head against the wall, face insufferably warm, and a moan stuck in his throat as Makoto bit around his Adam's apple gently.

His hands explored further beneath the fabric of Haruka's shirt, caressing his hip bones and the small of his back. Haruka felt intoxicated with the other's touch upon him, and cursed himself for never initiating it like this before.

“Makoto,” he hummed, eyes closed and hands gripping the back of Makoto's shirt, “I know we said we were going to make up a plan and all, but can we— _ah_ —can we do that tomorrow? I want you to... nng...”

“Good idea,” Makoto nuzzled the curve at the base of Haruka's neck, arms tightening around him, “Maybe, for tonight, we'll work on... escapism, hm? We can think about all those things... later?”

“Y-Yeah,” Haruka stammered, fists shaking slightly as they seized the front of Makoto's shirt tightly, timid and demanding bleeding into one another as Haruka pulled him closer and shrunk into himself at the same time. “I'd like that.”

Makoto brought his face up, lips stretched in a wide smile as he pressed their warm cheeks together. He found it hard to believe that he was this close to Haruka, that Haruka beckoned him even closer, that they were going to re-enact at least one of the startling (but not entirely unpleasant) dreams that had continued to wake Makoto up early in the mornings as of late. Dreams always with their focus on Haruka; Haruka pleasuring Makoto, or vice versa. Makoto's subconscious had established an impressive collection of scenarios, the indecency of which he wondered if he'd ever be able to tell his friend about. For now, he'd do his best to paint the images behind his closed eyelids reality; try to make Haruka's skin tingle with utmost delight.

Makoto couldn't help but feel as if he had been given a reward of sorts. Or a gift. Either way, he did not intend to let it go to waste.

The moment they found themselves sinking into realisation that _this is actually happening, for real,_ the trembling and the fumbling multiplied tenfold. It was evident that they were new to this, still apprehensive despite their ecstasy, but neither of them could find it within themselves to label it anything other than perfect. Makoto marvelled at having Haruka in his arms this way, to be allowed to touch, to kiss with such abandon, and have it mirrored by the other as well. To know he was the cause of the panting, the bashful moaning, as he licked and nipped at Haruka's skin, was maddening.

Soon they had lowered themselves to the floor, minds fluttering with eagerness so intense that the hardwood floor might as well have been a cotton cloud.

Both of their shirts were scattered, and Makoto began to kiss down the column of Haruka's throat and over his chest. Haruka whined and covered his mouth with a trembling fist as Makoto licked a nipple, the latter's stomach flipping at the taste of his best friend's skin.

Makoto sucked the delicate nub into his mouth, eliciting a stuttering noise from Haruka. He wanted to hear more of these sounds, and so he sucked harder, teasing with the tip of his tongue.

“A-Ah, Makoto... Feels... weird,” Haruka breathed, tangling his fingers in Makoto's brown locks. Makoto did not stop, however, but pressed his tongue flat against the nipple, twisting the other with his fingers. Haruka hissed, jerking his hips upwards reflexively. He never knew his chest was so sensitive.

Makoto sat up, an embarrassed, rosy red to his face, but determination in his eyes. He licked two of his fingers, before pressing them against the nipple he had just been feasting on, rubbing torturous stimulation into Haruka.

“ _Ah_! Oh god—” wheezed Haruka with a purring edge to his voice. Makoto bit his bottom lip, watching Haruka's face as he pinched and massaged his chest.

“Good?” he asked, torn between losing himself to arousal and letting embarrassment, caution, keep him at bay. Haruka wasn't sure what to do, himself.

The raven-haired boy nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. He curiously reached his hands out, smoothing his palms over Makoto's own nipples as if pensive. Experimentally, he pinched one of them harshly and watched Makoto's body stutter forward, mouth ajar.

“ _Ah_ , whoa,” he cried out, before chuckling sheepishly. “Haru...”

“You're doing it to me,” he countered, pushing Makoto back to sit up against the wall. “Come here.”

They positioned themselves adjacent to each other, legs overlapping. With a thick swallow, Haruka lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, Makoto's eyes on him making him feel as if he were falling to pieces. He then reached out, rubbing his wet fingertips over Makoto's already perky nubs, and Makoto bit his lip trying not to exclaim.

“You ever done this to yourself?” Haruka asked in a whisper, still shy despite the vigorous fire that fuelled his forward actions.

Makoto forced another laugh. “Um. I. Maybe.”

“Me too,” Haruka admitted, “but your hands felt better.”

Makoto blinked at him before doing as indirectly told, hovering his hands above Haruka's chest for a moment before resuming his attention to his flushed nipples. He drank up Haruka's hisses hungrily, leaning forward to replace one of his hands with his mouth. Haruka choked on a breath, overwhelmed with the stimulation, and his hands faltered. They dropped to Makoto's lap, squeezing his thighs almost pleadingly.

Makoto bit down carefully, wanting to worship every crook of the other's body. He could already feel his crotch pulsing with anticipation, however, and knew neither of them were experienced enough to last through much.

He quivered with embarrassment as he let his free hand connect with Haruka's, leading it to his clothed erection. “Is this okay?” he asked around the other's nipple.

“Y-Yeah,” said Haruka, cupping obediently and giving Makoto an experimental squeeze. “Ah... You're...”

“Sorry...” Makoto apologised instinctively, before realising what a weird situation this was to be sorry for being hard. “I'm... I mean, you do this to me.”

Haruka moaned low in his throat, loving the idea of being the magnet that ushered Makoto's blood south.

“A-And it's not the first time...”

“ _Makoto_ ,” Haruka groaned quietly, closing his eyes. Makoto kissed his way up to Haruka's shoulder and the side of his throat, abandoning the other boy's chest to grab at his hips and scoot him a little closer to himself. Haruka's hand grasped the other boy's cock tighter, although his touch was still hesitant, bordering on innocent what with the way he seemed so unsure, but wanting.

Haruka purred lowly—a sudden streak of boldness gushing through him. Makoto shivered at the thought that eventually, the two of them might be nothing _but_ boldness. Familiar with the skin, the curves and the pleasures of the other, just like they were with everything else, outside of bed.

“Kiss me again,” murmured Haruka, and Makoto did as demanded, giddy the moment their lips connected.

Makoto dared massage his palm against Haruka's own erection, swallowing every sound that escaped him at the touch. They rubbed each other for a few moments more, before Haruka sat up on his knees, face cherry red and limbs quaking softly.

He unzipped his own pants and pulled them off at a speed that Makoto would find impressive had it not been Haruka: the world's quickest and yet purest stripper. “Yours too,” he muttered, motioning for Makoto to get up.

Makoto stood up on the floor, eyes fleeing to the ceiling on first instinct as Haruka slipped his underwear off as well, and sat down on his knees, fidgeting bashfully.

“Oh god,” Makoto sighed, stepping out of his pants, “we're really—I mean, this is really—”

“Boxers too,” Haruka ordered, his voice wavering uncharacteristically.

“Are you sure, Haru?” Makoto looked down at him again, eyes scanning him for any trace of sincere discomfort. “I don't want us to do something you'll regret. Maybe you're just emotional—”

“Don't tell me you haven't wanted to do this for the longest time,” Haruka interrupted sternly, seeming to regain most of his unshakable ambiance. “I'm no different. It's... It's scary, but I want to.”

Makoto put his lips in between his teeth and nodded slowly, hooking his thumbs in the hem of his boxers.

“U-Unless,” Haruka continued, eyes roving the boy before him, “unless _you_ don't want to?”

Makoto instantly covered his face with his hands, a small whine escaping him. He nodded fiercely. “I do! God, I really do.”

“Then... Go on.”

“Mm,” Makoto nodded again, lowering his palms from his burning face and letting his underwear bunch around his ankles. He kicked them off, sitting down on the floor beside Haruka again, fingertips grazing his cheek like a faint lick. Haruka leaned forward, colliding their mouths once more, and sucked Makoto's tongue into his mouth. He bit down on it softly, and Makoto whimpered huskily against him. Not soon after, he separated from Haruka once more, pulling an indignant whine from the latter as they parted. “The floor is kind of hard, though.”

Haruka looked down as if he hadn't even noticed the floor was where they were. His eyes then fleeted to the keen semi-boner in between Makoto's legs, and he quirked an eyebrow. “So are you.”

Makoto couldn't help but snort, quick to cover his mouth with a hand. “ _Haru_!” he chastised, cheeks carnelian like a pair of berries. A smile grew on Haruka's lips as well, then; comfortable, brimming with the feeling of serendipity. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Makoto's heated cheek, and pulled the brunet with him to their feet.

“Couch, then.” said Haruka quietly, hands hooking together with Makoto's own, pulling them behind himself so that the two boys' chests were mere centimetres apart. Haruka walked backwards into the living room, dragging the brunet with him. He eyed Makoto as Makoto eyed their way, making sure they did not trip and get themselves hurt.

Haruka flopped onto the soft cushions, pulling Makoto down with him, the latter's badly stifled laughter washing over Haruka like a tidal wave of pure joy and nerves. The moment the raven-haired boy's back hit the sofa, he resumed mapping out Makoto's skin with his lips, nipping softly at the thin flesh beneath his jawline.

Makoto's giggles melted into velvety moans. One of his arms held his body up above Haruka's, and the other reached down for his wide hand to hold the backside of Haruka's twitching thigh. He lifted it, pressing its inside against his own hip, and Haruka instinctively wrapped his leg around the other's waist, grazing their shafts together.

Makoto held both of his lips in between his teeth, muffling the cries that threatened to tumble out of his throat. The touch wasn't much, but what with it being something other than his own hand—and, moreover, a part of _Haruka_ —the humble contact was made absolutely delicious.

The heat of their bodies mingled together, and Makoto allowed himself to buck against the other a bit more firmly, cocks sliding against each other once or twice with their mutual mewls as a fitting soundtrack.

“ _Haruka_ ,” Makoto breathed against his hair, the skin on his neck now sore and nearly throbbing from the other boy's imprudent suckling. “It feels so good, it being you... Ah,” he rocked forward a few more times, encouraged by the nails digging into the small of his back, “Fuck—I could do this all night...”

“I can't,” Haruka heaved against the crook of his neck, “I'm... I'm already... Nng, especially with you... swearing like that...”

A gust of heat swept across Makoto's face and he pressed it against Haruka's hair, inhaling the sweet scent of pomegranate shampoo.

“Fuck,” Makoto repeated, more so from lack of a better word than provocation (although the moan that fell from Haruka's lips undoubtedly made him consider decreasing his vocabulary to this single word from now on). “I want to last, Haru,” he whimpered, face contorting as he rutted against the other with a jerky, graceless rhythm. He could feel pre-cum leaking from his erection, pooling together with Haruka's own on the latter's belly. “I want to do... so much to you, Haru-chan...”

Haruka grunted low in his throat, dipping his forehead into place where Makoto's shoulder and throat connected, and let one hand slide from the brunet's back to squeeze the base of his cock tautly, bringing Makoto to a stuttering halt.

Makoto let out a strangled cry, and was then pushed back on the couch until he was sitting against the arm-rest, hands shielding his mouth, and legs intertwining with Haruka's. Haruka sat in front of him, mirroring their earlier position on the kitchen floor. He caressed Makoto's hip soothingly and stared for a moment at his drooling erection, the bottom of which was still snugly gripped in between slender, ivory fingers. Then, he began moving his hand up and down, swallowing thickly.

“Ha... Haru- _chan_ ,” Makoto's voice hitched in pitch as Haruka's hand—which he had so desired for longer than he dared to admit—stroked him fervently. The concept of his childhood friend's legs tangled with his own, grip strict and slick around his cock, face a feverish hue, was inconceivable and irresistible both at once. The fireworks from the festival seemed to be going on in Makoto's mind still, him unable to really grasp time and place. All he truly knew at the moment was the warmth in Haruka's touch, the tremble to it, and the fact that he himself had yet to be satiated.

Makoto leaned forward and moaned keenly into a kiss, Haruka's eyelashes fluttering shut against his cheek. A large hand wrapped around the dribbling shaft between Haruka's legs, tugging at it with the same determination Haruka's own wrist had.

A startled noise bubbled up inside Haruka, choking in his throat as Makoto's free hand clasped his thigh firmly. Much alike the brunet's, Haruka's head swam with overpowering lust and the nerve-racking impact of their relationship's innocence being stripped from them. It was a funny feeling, not to mention frightening—far more so than any swimming race, or uncertain future staring back at Haruka as he looked himself in the mirror. But this fear was of another kind; it carried wonderment and allure, and Haruka wanted to bathe in it.

He whimpered against Makoto's lips, feeling his sanity slipping away the closer he was brought to his peak.

Haruka bit down gently on the other's bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth as a way of keeping his own sounds in. It drew even more of them out of Makoto, however, and it was like music to his ears; aphrodisiacs to his body.

“Haru,” Makoto gasped, hand grasping at Haruka's thigh harshly, moving them closer together. Haruka complied, dragging his hips forward and securing his legs behind Makoto.

Their erections were nearly lined up what with their proximity, and Haruka looked down between them with an intense heat surfacing in his face. He fell forward, resting his forehead against Makoto's shoulder, and rutted his hips, desperate for more friction, more pleasure, more of Makoto's body against his own. The latter seemed to catch his drift and rocked himself forward as well, removing his hand to get a fixed grip of both sides to Haruka's waist, pulling him close enough for their cocks to knock together. A high, stuttering sound left Haruka; another one for Makoto to memorise and stroke himself mad to, he noted to himself with less shame than he thought he ought to have had.

Haruka's milky fingers wrapped around both of them with a shudder of desperation, pre-cum dribbling down the length of his digits and landing on the couch. He couldn't find it within him to care or even notice, though, as pleasurable torment swept him up in a momentary dazzle.

“G-God, Haru-chan,” Makoto panted, the childish nickname sending chills across the expanse of Haruka's skin, “I never thought I'd be doing this with you,” he laughed quietly, thumbs digging into Haruka's sides. The raven-haired boy sat back a bit and looked up at him with apprehension that begged to be rid of, and Makoto gave him an assuring smile, one hand fleeting up to cup his friend's face. “Move your hand, Haru.”

“Nn,” Haruka bit his lip, restless to reach the very pinnacle of gratification with Makoto.

He began twisting his wrist, fingers sliding up and down the both of them, and Makoto was already whimpering with growing fulfilment. They both watched Haruka's hand with steady gazes, eyes glazed with tears and pearls of sweat emerging along their hairlines.

“F-Faster,” stammered Makoto, and Haruka gazed at him while hurrying his pace up.

Makoto's eyebrows were drawn together, mouth ajar and lip quivering as shameless noises of indulgence spilled from him. The sight was nearly unbearable, and tugged at Haruka's heartstrings as much as it did his cock (hand aside, that was). He swallowed hard, adding another hand to increase the pleasurable burn in his crotch as he rubbed against Makoto, their fluids layering his hand and causing wet sounds that perhaps should have embarrassed Haruka, but rather failed to do so.

Mewls continued to slip from Makoto's open mouth, and if Haruka didn't know better he'd think the boy was about to cry. The brunet hunched forward, burying his face in the crook of Haruka's smooth neck and locking his arms around his abdomen. Makoto's knees twitched and he sobbed against the other's shoulder, his warmth encompassing Haruka like a loving embrace.

“Oh, oh god,” Makoto breathed harshly, the words hitting Haruka's flesh in little puffs of air, “it feels so good... Don't... D-Don't stop, it feels so...”

“Makoto,” Haruka pinched his eyes shut, copying the other by burrowing against his neck, “Makoto, _Makoto_.”

“Ha...Haru, _ah_ , I love—I love you, Haru,” he stuttered his words, hips jerking forwards in sync with Haruka's hand movements, “I love you so much. I love it when you say my name. Oh god, oh—s-say my name again, please...”

“ _Makoto_.” Haruka breathed out heavily, heart banging against the confines of his chest viciously, as if begging for release. He whispered the other boy's name again, over and over like a repetitive chorus. More sobs of pleasure escaped Makoto, and every now and then his body tensed, only to slacken again.

“I'm really close, Haru,” his voice was quiet enough for it to pass Haruka by had he not been paying such close attention to Makoto's every move. Haruka nodded against the curve of his throat.

He thumbed Makoto's slit with one of his hands, before dropping it further below to cup his balls, to massage them, and squeeze them gently. That seemed to do it for the brunet, and he pressed his face harder against Haruka's neck, coming over Haruka's cock with a muffled cry.

“ _Ah_ ,” Haruka bit his lip harshly, glancing down at the spurts of white that shot onto his hand and shaft, driven out of his mind from such an indecently perfect sight.

Makoto slumped against him, angling his head downwards and biting softly at a collarbone. He then straightened himself some and pressed their cheeks together, humming contentedly at the noises Haruka made right next to his ear. He noted, even in his hazy state of post-orgasm elation, that the other boy's skin was edging on feverish in temperature.

“Makoto,” murmured the black-haired boy, breaths jagged as if he had been the one to peak, just now. “Was it okay?”

“Mm,” Makoto mumbled his confirmation, nod turning into more of a lazy snuggle against the side of Haruka's face. “Of course. Thank you.”

“...Don't thank me for it,” Haruka muttered, hips squirming a tad with his hand still steady around his cock, “it's— _nng_ —weird.”

Makoto couldn't suppress his laughter. He tightened his arms around the other, pressing a firm kiss to one of Haruka's dusty pink cheeks.

He counted the seconds in his head until he'd return the favour. Once his breath closed in on normal, he let one hand ghost over the smaller boy's own, which was tugging rapidly at his erection. Makoto swatted the hand away to replace it with his own, and the unfamiliar touch seemed to scorch through Haruka's very skin, even though it wasn't moving yet.

“You're so beautiful,” Makoto moaned against him, “even like this—especially like this. I've wanted to see you this way for so, so long, Haru.”

“ _Fuck_ , Makoto—” his chiding stuck in his throat as Makoto tore his senses from him with a startling flick of his hand. He lowered Haruka onto his back, the shorter boy's slender body splayed out over the couch for Makoto to assess to his heart's content. And Makoto _only_ —a fact that made his insides bustle with wanton. Haruka instantly began to claw at the couch as Makoto's hand picked up a lazy pace.

“What have I done to deserve you, I don't get it,” mused the brunet, “Haru is so perfect. So, so perfect.”

“S-Stop that...”

“Nuh-uh,” Makoto shook his head, gathering enough energy to sit up straighter on the couch, ignoring the sticky mess around his belly and crotch. He cupped Haruka's face with a hand, smiling lovingly at him and marvelling at the sight of swollen, scarlet lips; tousled, sweaty bangs and cheeks, the warmth of which could put volcanoes to shame. He felt a lump in his throat, oddly overcome with how obscenely picturesque Haruka looked, and that Makoto was the reason his imperturbable composure had been thrashed. “I love you, Haru,” he sniffed, and Haruka turned his head away, beating a fist half-heartedly against the other's chest, “I really, really do. God, I always have. I love you so much. I'm so happy you... said, what you said, earlier...” He quickened the twist of his wrist, making Haruka writhe beneath him, “Let me make you feel good now, hm? Let me show Haru how important he is to me.”

“You're... so embarrassing,” Haruka muttered, but bucked into the grip nonetheless.

In lieu of replying, Makoto let their lips interlock and share a deep but calm little tango, relaxed moans rolling off of Haruka's tongue right onto Makoto's own.

Makoto let his free hand skim the other's body, eventually settling to work once again on Haruka's sensitive nipples, the other giving a few tugs to his leaking cock. Shivering sighs were elicited from deep within Haruka, and he gripped Makoto's upper arms, wordlessly begging for _more, faster, harder,_ as he was already standing at the edge of a precipice from his own earlier work.

The brunet's mouth trailed from his lips across his cheek and his jawline, settling to nibble and breathe hotly at Haruka's earlobe. Haruka bit his lips trying not to smile at the way Makoto kissed him so expertly, while his hands still hesitated in their handling of his body.

Makoto seemed to sense his impatience, however, and gained a rougher manner to his stroking of Haruka's erection. He jerked his long fingers up and down the dribbling shaft without nervousness or hesitation, making the core of Haruka's gut pinch together just the way he had longed for it to.

“Makoto...” he breathed out, and was granted with a smirk—teasing, promising, thoroughly _new_ to Haruka, making him flush all the way down to his neck. Makoto sat up straighter, propping Haruka's legs up on his shoulders for easier access, and Haruka was too high on pleasure to be bashful about the position.

Instead, he pressed his behind keenly against Makoto, ankles overlapping behind the brunet's neck. “Makoto... _Ah_ , could you...” he began, digging his fingers into the fabric of the couch, tensing his legs around the other boy's shoulders, “c-could you, please, _please_ , touch me... Touch me...”

A low growl of appreciation left Makoto's throat. “I am touching you, Haruka.”

Haruka gasped, shutting his eyes tightly and internally cursing the way his cheeks burned over the request he was struggling to make. “N-No, lower, I mean...”

Makoto blinked at him a few times, jade eyes bright with curiosity before they flickered downwards, dark beneath the lashes that lowered in slight shyness from understanding. Haruka groaned, feeling himself closing in on his orgasm, and grabbed Makoto's hand, shoving two fingers into his own mouth and sucking ruthlessly.

Makoto bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as he watched, a low grunt escaping him at the scene. Haruka moaned around the fingers, his whole body thrumming with pleasure and stubborn trepidation.

“ _Haru_ ,” Makoto gasped, feeling as if his head would short-circuit at any given second from the indecent scene. It was as if snatched right out of the daydreams he never allowed himself, and the thought made him even more lightheaded.

Saliva trickled down Haruka's chin, Makoto unable to tear his eyes from the drops as they fell to Haruka's collarbone, trailing the slight downward angle like a thin lake on the landscape of Haruka's porcelain skin. He released Makoto's fingers then, an excessive coat of drool enveloping them as he brought them down in between Haruka's legs. Gulping with jittery anticipation, he began to press his fingers against Haruka's entrance. Somehow, it did not feel as weird as he might have assumed, rather the opposite; the other's raw yearning made Makoto's body thrum with adoration.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmured, pushing his slicked digits into the boy beneath him, who shivered and pressed back in a needy fashion. _So desperate,_ Makoto mused to himself, knitting his eyebrows together in concentration.

Haruka's breaths were heavy and hoarse as Makoto fingered him and stroked his cock simultaneously. Although he wasn't even knuckle-deep yet, the stretching of Haruka's hole made him tingle almost violently, and he released moan upon moan, light and aroused and—to Makoto—absolutely enticing.

“Do you like this?” Makoto asked, mischief lacing his voice. Haruka put his lips in between his teeth and nodded with a pathetic whimper. “Do you do this to yourself often?”

“I... I...” he began, but found it difficult to be coherent when Makoto's digits continued to press into him, curling and parting occasionally, the intensity only half as grand as when Haruka fingered himself, but still twice as pleasurable, somehow. When no comprehensible words wanted to leave his drooling mouth, he opted for a simple nod.

Makoto's breath hitched as the image hit him. “Oh, Haruka...” he breathed, intrigue shooting right to his own cock despite his recent orgasm. He pictured Haruka curled up beneath the covers in his bed at night, stroking himself and digging his fingers in between his cheeks as drool trickled down his chin. Or Haruka in the shower, kneeling down beneath the stream to finger himself senseless, Makoto's own name falling from his lips in longing breaths, perhaps.

“Ma... Ah— _oh_ ,” he moaned, thrusting his hips down onto the fingers burrowing themselves within him. Makoto was so concentrated on them that he had stopped moving his hand around Haruka's dribbling cock, but the stretch of his hole was enough, as he had already been edging on climax since before, and he spilled himself onto Makoto's motionless fist with a loud mewl, high in pitched and spiked with senseless bliss.

Makoto watched his body go rigid for a moment, before sinking into calm waves of contentment. Haruka's muscles felt reduced to jelly and his limbs buzzed with satiation. Leaning over him with one hand on each side of Haruka, Makoto smiled down at the sleepy-looking boy, before carding his hand through the coal-coloured locks that hung from Haruka's head. His bangs were sweaty and dishevelled; a lovely combination, in Makoto's opinion.

Haruka's eyes were closed, his breaths husky, and Makoto thought this was a view he could definitely get used to. Suddenly the dark-haired boy cracked an eye open, though, and wrapped his arms around Makoto's neck. Makoto's arms gave way and a little yelp flew from him as he smacked down on Haruka, but the latter seemed not to mind. He simply nuzzled into Makoto's hair, curling his toes against the brunet's calves.

“I'm sorry,” Haruka whispered, almost as if he did not intend for Makoto to hear him at all, “that I've been so difficult. I... I really do love Makoto... But that's no excuse.”

“Haru, no,” Makoto propped himself up on his elbows, taking Haruka's face in between his hands and pressing his lips to the tip of Haruka's nose, “you don't have to apologise. Or, I mean, if you do, then I certainly do as well, but I think we're ready to leave this behind us, right?”

A few heartbeats passed in silence, before Haruka hummed his concurrence.

Makoto sighed and placed a few more pecks to his friend's nose, his cheek and his lips. “I'm just glad we ended up here. That makes up for any hassle you may have caused,” a laugh, “I'll gladly manage it, if it means I get to be with you.”

Haruka's grip on him tightened, and he expected a gentle insult of some sort to be muttered into the still night, but Haruka remained noiseless.

“Besides, I guess I'm no field of roses all the time, either,” he pulled back a bit, a sharp breath of amusement escaping him at the sight of Haruka's flushed cheeks, which he brushed gingerly with his knuckles, “although your face kind of looks like one, Haru-chan.”

“Shut up.”

_There it is,_ thought Makoto, releasing a cheery laugh that persuaded Haruka's own lips to curve upwards, if only vaguely.

Despite how spent they both felt, none felt like falling asleep buck naked on Haruka's living room couch with drying cum on their bodies, so they quickly got cleaned up, stealing glances and innocent kisses every now and then, before they headed to bed. Makoto went to inform his mother of his would-be absence, only to find that his phone had been turned off. “Weird...” he mumbled, turning it on and messaging her as well as Nagisa and Rei (both of whom had bombarded him with a series of worried texts). When he had put his phone away and retreated up the stairs, stifling yawn after relentless yawn, he found Haruka already curled up in bed, body a crescent moon beneath his baby-blue blanket.

Makoto beamed with affection, standing immovable in the doorway for a few seconds too long, until Haruka eventually peeked up over his shoulder, giving a half-bashful, half-demanding glare that told Makoto to get into bed already. The brunet nodded obediently, slipping beneath the thin covers with Haruka and encircling him with his strong arms, now made limp from exhaustion.

“Goodnight, Haru.” he whispered into the back of said boy's hair, their feet colliding and caressing each other sweetly.

“Night, Makoto.” came the quiet reply.

Makoto breathed in deeply the scent of Haruka's charcoal locks. “Tomorrow you'll wake up feeling a lot better than you have in a while, I'm sure of it.”

He smiled to himself, awaiting yet another reprimand.

“...If you'll still be next to me.” Haruka quipped softly after a few seconds had passed. Makoto's breath hitched.

“Ha...Haru...”

He heard a shift in Haruka's breathing, and knew (from many years of experience) that the boy was drifting off. Haruka had never been a late-night person, after all. With a deep sigh and another tender pull at his lips, Makoto pressed a kiss to Haruka's head, bid him goodnight once more in a whisper, and let himself fall asleep as well. Certainly, tomorrow would come without fireworks, but with the sun shining down persistently at them.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> realistically, i always felt like makoharu was the kind of couple to have an incredibly slow built, even after they confess? because they're so comfortable and safe they don't feel the need to rush into anything, and because breaking habit can be hard. especially after an entire lifetime of being best friends. BUT. i am sooooo weak to the idea of them literally inhaling each other's dicks the moment their feelings are out in the open. passionate and intense and desperate!!! yes sir!!
> 
> thanks to shinx for proofreading!


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